Circus!

by V.Madhavan Nair, Parvathi Ramkumar

Genres: Classics

Synopsis

The popular and fun-filled Koman Circus has been wrested away from Koman, the beloved ringmaster, by his cunning manager, Kelan. And now sadly Koman is dead, leaving the animals and other circus artistes helpless. Led by Chimpa the chimpanzee, the animals decide to start their own circus. They learn to do everything themselves – from managing money to thinking of new and dazzling tricks. Will their circus, the first of its kind, triumph over all odds? Or will Kelan succeed in his wicked plans to take everything away from them again? This classic action-packed story of loyalty, faith and teamwork, written by the iconic Malayalam writer ‘Mali’, has been translated fully into English for the first time by his granddaughter and author Parvathi Ramkumar, to bring it to thousands more young readers.

Release date: April 15, 2017

Publisher: Hachette India Children's Books

Print pages: 103

Sample

{Introduction}

Growing up, my grandfather V. Madhavan Nair ‘Mali’ had always been a source of inspiration. His stories were read out to me when I was really little, and as I grew up, I enjoyed delving into his tales of magic and mythology and all round fun. I learned a lot from these stories – about the world in general, about India’s glorious heritage, and, well, about donkeys who wanted to sing and how they stood when they were idle.

I was just a little girl in 1994 when Mali passed away, and yet, I have so many memories of him. He’d call my house nearly every day as soon as I got back from school to ask how I was. He called me ‘cheruthe,’ meaning little one, as then he’d ask, ‘What did you eat?’ I still remember the tone of his voice and the warmth of his speech. When he came to stay with me and my parents for a few days in early 1994, he’d accompany me to the bus stop to wait for the school bus on those misty mornings. He’d be there at home in the afternoons, cheerful and welcoming, when I returned.

It was around that time that he visited my school for a storytelling session, the last one he ever held. The story he told was about an ant who swallowed a mountain. It was a lot of fun, that session, with children laughing and applauding and asking him questions. And for me, it was a privilege, young as I was, that I was able to attend the session. I can still remember that session vividly, with him seated on a low stage with a backdrop of trees, the soft, crisp breeze and the mellow sunlight. I remember how engaged the audience was, and how my grandfather drew them into that story of magic.

When I visited him and my grandmother during vacations, he’d read stories out loud to me. There was a garden in the house they lived in, with bright, colourful blossoms. My grandfather was really proud of that garden. He even signed a book for me, and made a little wallet for me to keep my money in. I’ve treasured both.

I took up writing in my teens, and I have always wished that he could read my work. His own lyrical style of writing has inspired me throughout – and his whimsical imagination has always kept my own alive. Each time I finish a piece of writing, I wonder if he would like it. I’m told that it was he who guided my first alphabet during Navarathri when I was a toddler. This was on Vijayadashami, which is also observed as Vidyarambham day, and a time to start one’s education. I don’t remember much about that, but knowing him, and knowing me, I think I might’ve been fussy and he amused.

Mali left a great void in the family, and the world of literature, when he passed away. I was too young, too inexperienced, but I do remember realizing that this gentle soul of a man was no longer around, and I knew I’d miss him.

Circus! is, in my own way, a tribute to him and the genius that he was. And, I hope, as I always do, that he likes my translation of his work.

Parvathi Ramkumar

Bengaluru, 2017



One

An elephant, a lion, a fox, two chimpanzees, two tigers, two bears, seven camels and seven horses – these were the animals in Koman Circus.

Gaja believed that he was the biggest of all elephants.

‘Do any of you doubt it?’ he’d often ask the other animals.

To which they would reply, ‘Not at all! We have no doubt.’

And they would grin at each other when Gaja wasn’t looking.

The lion, Simha, was a fine specimen. He was big and he was strong. He had a luxuriant mane and an air of valour, and a long tail with a tuft at the tip.

Master Koman had named the fox Jambu. It was short for Jambuka without the ka at the end. He had glittering eyes and a pointed face that would break into a smile now and then, a smile that made him look a little wicked.

The chimpanzees were brothers. Chimpanzees are, of course, the living species closest to humans. The eldest of these two was called Chimpa, the younger Kocchimpa.

‘These are not chimpanzees, they’re humans that look like chimpanzees!’ cried some of the visitors to the circus who saw the pair.

Others would say, ‘No, you’re wrong. They’re not humans, they are definitely chimpanzees. But they look like humans!’

The two bears were huge, and one was jet black. The other animals called him Karuma, or the Black One, and the second bear Thavida, or the Brown One.

Of the tigers, one had very long fangs. He would respond to the name Damshtri, the Fanged One. But it became difficult, over time, to pronounce that tri from Damshtri. And so the tri was dropped from the name. Damshtri became Damshi. The second tiger had a face that was swollen all the time as though he had a cold. He wound up with the name Jaladoshi, or the One with a Cold.

The seven camels and seven horses had no names. They had numbers instead. Camel One, Horse Four… and that’s how they were referred to by everyone else. Kocchimpa would stretch their names when he called them. Caamel Fiive! And he called the horses donkeys. Horse Two became Donkey Two. To call a horse a donkey was most insulting. The horses might have accepted any other name. But to be called a donkey! No self-respecting horse would allow that. Yet there was nothing they could do when Kocchimpa called them donkeys. He was far too naughty.

Did Koman Circus have only animals? No. There were humans too. Trapeze artistes, acrobats, cyclists, tightrope walkers, magicians, jugglers, knife-throwers, tumblers, clowns… Master Koman, however, was especially fond of his animals. He had taught them circus tricks, and called them his children. Koman’s training was one of a kind. There were trainers who were harsh and cruel, who terrified their animals so much that the poor creatures feared for their lives and obeyed every command. But not Koman. He never ill-treated his animals.

‘You must train them with love,’ he used to say.

There was a time once, in the past, when he’d lost his temper and whipped the lion Simha. Blood spurted from Simha’s thigh and Koman regretted it at once. He wept at the sight and since then he’d never used the whip on any animal. The animals in turn loved him as a father, revered him as a god.

The human performers of the circus thought of Koman the same way, at least in the beginning. As time passed, however, they changed their minds. And the man responsible for that was Kelan, the manager of the circus.

He was closely related to Koman. Kelan’s parents had passed away in his childhood and it was Koman who raised him. Kelan was given a small job at the circus. He was clever and he rose within the ranks of the circus company. Eventually he became the manager.

Flattering the manager would earn them bigger salaries and the human performers knew this.

‘If only Kelan took over the ownership of our circus,’ said the acrobat Ananthan to the cyclist Govindan, ‘it would be a wonderful thing.’

Govindan repeated that to the juggler Sugathan. Sugathan repeated it to the clown Konthu. Then the four of them approached Kelan, and told him what they thought.

‘Please don’t say that,’ Kelan said. ‘Master Koman is the owner. I am content being the manager.’

Kelan knew his words sounded pleasant, but his intentions were quite different. Those who praised him were paid more. And what followed that? Many more performers began praising Kelan. They also began criticizing Koman. Kelan raised their salaries too. Before long, those who did not speak well of Kelan and those who did not find fault with Koman simply did not exist.

How could the animals not see any of this? They did, and the. . .